


A Bullet For You, With Love

by SlytherinBunBun



Category: Alex Rider - Anthony Horowitz
Genre: First Love, M/M, Sexual Content, Slash, Songfic, Tragic Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-23
Updated: 2019-09-23
Packaged: 2020-10-26 17:54:19
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,394
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20746334
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SlytherinBunBun/pseuds/SlytherinBunBun
Summary: It was magical, it was mystical. Although Alex regularly suffered from memory gaps – too many people drugging you in order to interrogate you – he was absolutely certain he’d never felt that way again. His eyes were old man’s eyes and his body bore the marks of many a near-death experience, but his rookie hands and lips didn’t know where to go, or what to do, so he let the older man guide him, with a softness the young spy would never have associated with Yassen Gregorovich.





	A Bullet For You, With Love

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own the Alex Rider series and characters, nor the song "Dedication" by Raining Pleasure.
> 
> The song inspired the fic, I urge you to listen to it on Youtube to get a sense of the atmosphere.
> 
> I hope y'all like it, drop a review on your way out!

_Feels like I’m getting older, I’m not afraid, although I’m worlds apart from yesterday_  
_And yet I can’t believe I’m old enough today to be in love, and feel in love, and see if love’s the way _

It was magical, it was mystical. Although Alex regularly suffered from memory gaps – too many people drugging you in order to interrogate you – he was absolutely certain he’d never felt that way again. His eyes were old man’s eyes and his body bore the marks of many a near-death experience, but his rookie hands and lips didn’t know where to go, or what to do, so he let the older man guide him, with a softness the young spy would never have associated with Yassen Gregorovich.

Alex briefly wondered how things had gone that far. All he could recall were the first tidbits of his mission, amidst all the passionate moans and groans eliciting from the both of them. He had gone undercover, a new recruit in an Italian mafia boss’ organization. Yassen had been there, somehow. He’d encountered him when he’d been requested to dispose of a body, and the person he was supposed to give it to turned out to be the infamous, not to mention thought-to-be-dead, Russian assassin. The corpse had then slid from Alex’s arms, and he thought he’d heard a snapping noise, but his mind had been too preoccupied comprehending the sudden appearance of that ghost to care about the actual dead man on the scene.

They hadn’t said a word to each other then, though, and Alex had spent the whole night contemplating the encounter. He’d almost convinced himself he had imagined it, a conviction enhanced by the fact he never saw the assassin around anymore. Thus, he’d neglected – or at least, that’s what he told himself – to report anything concerning him back to the MI6.

And then his cover had somehow been blown. A hack or a mole, he didn’t care anymore. Especially, when he had been about to be tortured by a most thrilled at the opportunity rookie torturer, obviously well-versed to the theory introduced by one Dr. Three. The young man had just elicited the first scream from Alex, when his contented laughter was cut short – as was his throat.

Afterwards, the seventeen-year-old spy could only recall a sequence of cars, showers, beds and gauze. Nothing was consistent, save for the hands that always changed those bandages. Hands that at first he had no idea who they belonged to. Blond hair, a different shade from his own, cut conveniently short, deliberate movements, silent footstep, silence.

And now there was this.

Alex had smiled at his savior and the next moment soft lips had seized his abruptly and hungrily claimed them as their own. Alex had gasped into the kiss and Yassen had stopped. But Alex – his perception hazy, as were his emotions – had initiated the next kiss seconds later.

Now he was hard as hell, harder than he’d ever remembered himself being, with those videos he used as stimulation. A chuckle came out of his lips. Perhaps he’d managed to find something in which he actually was a normal teenager. And then a blush had threatened to appear, when he felt uncomfortable at being so easily aroused, but he felt a pressure on his thigh that told him he wasn’t the only one.

“Yassen…” he muttered, amazed. Questioning eyes looked at him, but he shook his head. “Go on… p-please…” And so he did. A trail of kisses was lain on his neck – surely making marks Alex would probably have a hard time explaining later –, his torso, his belly, going ever lower, till they reached the place that made Alex almost hiccup. But it didn’t end there – Alex couldn’t believe the bliss of Yassen’s warm mouth engulfing his length, it seemed almost like a dream. The assassin’s skilled fingers played with Alex’s balls, applying pressure to all the right places, while his tongue and perchance his teeth focused on the teenager’s cock, eliciting long moans from him. Perhaps it was for the best that Alex didn’t last long like this. He thought he’d go crazy if that went on any longer, not to mention his throat had started to hurt from noises it’d never made before now being mass-produced. The seventeen-year-old’s eyes widened when he saw Yassen swallowing, before his lips found Alex’s and he let the younger man taste his own essence, something that almost made Alex hard again, feeling it come from Yassen’s mouth.

Alex knew what came next and he didn’t spare more than a moment’s thought on it. He drew Yassen back on the bed and fell on his own back, the Russian immediately covering his whole body with his weight. For a few moments they simply kissed, before Alex gathered up the courage to send his hands to Yassen’s fly. There, they tried their best – amidst all the trembling – to undo it, but thankfully the older man’s steadier hands took over. A cock snapped to attention when his pants were finally off. Alex took in the whole picture of Yassen like this, unraveled, eyes dark with lust, lips wet from before, and so horny it probably hurt to hold on anymore, and he felt his own cock stirring again in response to the sexiest sight the teenager had ever beheld.

And then Alex squealed as a finger entered him with no warning. It was the strangest feeling he’d ever experienced – and he’d experienced quite a lot. He felt like there was something where there should and shouldn’t be at the same time. His cock echoed his feelings, because he was now sporting a full erection, so quick it surprised even himself. Then a second finger entered and Yassen applied a scissoring movement and Alex felt like he was in heaven.

Yassen took his time to prepare him – no lube was available – but Alex thought afterwards that there really couldn’t be enough preparation for something like this. Had he not been so enthralled by the older man, he might have thought it over twice, but right then all he knew was that he wanted Yassen inside him, whatever that implied. Couldn’t hurt worse than torture, could it?

The first pain was searing, but Yassen stilled immediately after Alex’s scream was heard. Alex didn’t know for how long they sat there, could’ve been seconds or minutes, before he managed to utter the single word “move”. And so he did, but with tremendous care and tenderness, a completely different disposition than before. Gradually Alex’s mind stopped processing the pain, while pleasure took over. Eventually, Alex screamed again, but that was a distinctly different sound from before. This time, Alex’s lips uttered one word, “faster”, occasionally replaced by “harder”, all of the noises he made indicating bliss. At the same time, Yassen worshipped the rest of his body he could get to, his mouth moving arbitrarily from one place to another with each thrust. When the assassin bit into his shoulder, Alex came with a loud cry, dragging the assassin with him. They rode through their orgasms together, clasping each other in a hot, sweaty, needy embrace.

Afterwards, they lay intertwined, neither gathering up the courage to disentangle himself from the other. They simply enjoyed the warm closeness with another person, so rarely found in their line of work.

_I don’t need fancy places to spend the night, I’m happy just to be here with you tonight _  
_And yet I’m not so sure the time is really right to be in love, and feel in love, and see if love’s alright _

“Yassen Gregorovich is alive.”

Those four words came crashing on Alex’s world. It’d been two years – two years since the discovery, two years since that first time, two years filled with closeness, understanding, love. He should have known it had been too good to last.

He’d faked of course. He’d faked being surprised, even angry, in the face of MI6, he’d ranted on and on about their being untrustworthy, careless, too slow on the uptake. But inside, he was boiling from a different heat. He had to get information, go home, warn him… that is, if he could find him.

For the past two years they’d been meeting from time to time, once every three or four months. Between missions, on Alex’s part, and jobs, on Yassen’s. One time, after Alex’s eighteenth birthday, the spy had requested two weeks leave and they’d met up in Greece. Those fourteen days had been the happiest in Alex’s life. They’d been careful of course to never be associated together. Yassen had even refused work that would take him too close to Alex’s waters, with the latter unable to do the same.

But now they’d been discovered. No, he. He’d been discovered, Alex corrected himself.

_And you will sing as long as there’s a song, the feeling’s never gone, it was the first time to be in love _  
_Maybe tomorrow I’ll never sing again, but I’ll remember when it was the first time to be in love _

Things had been against them from the beginning, even all of Alex’s optimism couldn’t deny that. Truth be told, he had expected MI6 to catch up to them for a long time. Yassen Gregorovich was always one step ahead of them (or two). And although Alex wasn’t the agent tasked with tracking him down, he had the same level of clearance as Alan Blunt, Tulip Jones and John Crawley. Those three being inherently out of the question, it narrowed down to him and Ben Daniels, who had embarked on a mission, three years ago, to find and eliminate the most notorious international assassin the world had ever seen. And as he’d been severely hurt in the line of duty, the powers-that-be were inclined to dismiss him as a potential leak.

And so here Alex was, dragged in the middle of the night from his bed, and thrown in a cell. As he learnt afterwards, it had been a simple, anonymous pen-pusher who’d noticed the unusual number of times that Ben Daniels had logged into his private account to check on the ongoing investigation on Gregorovich, considering he’d been in a chemically-induced coma for the past two weeks, to avoid enduring unimaginable pain.

_The picture’s slowly fading, and now it’s gone, the letters we remember are old and torn _  
_And although the time has passed, the memory lingers on, to be in love, and feel in love, and know when love is gone _

Alan Blunt and Tulip Jones were practical people. They rarely stepped in on their agents’ private lives. They didn’t need to. More often than not, MI6 agents tended to avoid sexual relationships with people of the criminal underworld, or at least, enemies of the state. Alex Rider was their most exceptional operative. Between himself, his father and his uncle, they made up the top three in the history of the agency. Alex Rider also happened to be nineteen at the time. His potential had only been boosted, even while his age deprived him of an advantage. Alex Rider still had a long and promising career ahead of him and it would only be MI6’s loss if they let him rot in a cell for the rest of his life. At some point, someone, somewhere, would force their hand and they’d have to release him for fear of their exploitation of him when he was a still a minor becoming public knowledge. And then another agency or, even worse, a criminal organization, would get hold of his skills.

So why not invite him back with open arms and get something out of it?

Alex Rider was brought back to Alan Blunt’s office in handcuffs and looking slightly worse for wear, but essentially he hadn’t been harmed. There was no need to, since Yassen Gregorovich had not lasted long without the inside intel he’d been receiving from Alex. The Russian would never break under torture, but he pretended to, for the sake of his lover, so he could save the young man from being assumed to be anything more than that. And so the powers that be had been satisfied. They already had a plan.

“Alex,” Blunt welcomed him in the most cheerful tone he could muster – which was still dry as hell. “I hope your latest accommodation was comfortable?”

“Really, Blunt, sarcasm?” was the nineteen-year-old’s moody reply. “What the fuck do you want now? I thought you’d leave me there to rot. What, is there some mission no one else can pull off but me? Or maybe a suicide mission, so you can be rid of me cleanly? Or are you going to bloody execute me? What is it?”

Ignoring the young man’s short-lived rant, Blunt declared, “Yassen Gregorovich has been detained. He’s currently being held in a maximum security cell in the SAS camp in Brecon Beacons, Wales. We’ve extracted all we need from him. We know about your history together. You’ll find you can still be absolved.”

Alex snorted. “Excuse me?”

“Obviously, we can’t let him go. And the longer he remains under lock and key, the higher the chances he’ll manage to escape. He has powerful people backing him after so many years in the field, people who will not care if they have to bomb the place to get him out. Even a maximum security prison will not hold him. If he manages to get to his funds and the right people… people are always a problem. In any case, after we presented all these arguments to the governmental committee, they decided that an exception had to be made. Gregorovich is scheduled for execution tomorrow.”

Alex’s eyes widened but he didn’t say a word. He couldn’t. A lump had formed in his throat since he heard that Yassen had been captured and it had only grew as Blunt spoke. For a moment, he couldn’t even breathe.

“What the fuck do you want from me?” he croaked.

“Something really simple and effortless for you, Alex. You do it and we’ve even. You do it and you’ll be welcomed back.” This time is was Mrs. Jones who spoke. But apparently her mint-scented breath couldn’t break the rest of the news to him.

“You’ll be the one to kill him, Alex,” Blunt finished at last.

Nobody spoke for a while. Alex was simply staring unblinking at Blunt. Or maybe the window behind him. It wasn’t the first time he’d wondered if the windows could open this far up. If they did, could he shove Blunt past? Detain him until he could get to the gun the head of MI6 probably kept in his drawer, shoot at the window in calculated intervals, break the glass and shove the bloody bastard through it? Alan Blunt may be the devil, but Alex was pretty sure a fall from the sixteenth floor would send him back to hell, where he belonged.

But alas, there were too many possibilities. Mrs. Jones, for one, was also present. She probably knew how she could get the security in the room in a couple of seconds.

Maybe he should use the window to fall himself.

Apparently, the internal monologue of his agent went unnoticed by Blunt, because he continued without waiting for a reply. “You will be transferred there tomorrow morning. Given the circumstances, I will accompany you. Yassen Gregorovich faked his death once. We need to be sure. For now, you will return to your holding cell, but I assure you, it’s the last time you’re going to see it.” Alex didn’t know if the last part was supposed to be encouraging.

_And you will sing as long as there’s a song, the feeling’s never gone, it was the first time to be in love _  
_Maybe tomorrow I’ll never sing again, but I’ll remember when it was the first time to be in love _

A familiar face was surprisingly the one waiting for them when they reached the camp. Wolf was, of course, all prim and proper in the face of the Head of MI6 and one of his top agents, but Alex was paid an incredible amount of money to notice things and he couldn’t help but notice the glances that the soldier sent his way. Wolf was surprised to see him and even more surprised to find out that Alex would be the one performing the execution. Alex guessed it wasn’t that often that higher-ups preferred to get their hands dirty when grunt men were readily available instead.

Alex’s face was stone as he palmed the gun that Wolf passed him. He checked swiftly that it was in working order and waited for the soldier to unlock the door to the cell. His steps betrayed no hesitation as he walked inside. Alan Blunt didn’t waste any time before following him.

Alex Rider was there to perform an execution. And he would.

A small explosion triggered the bullet that exited the gun and planted itself between the eyes of Alan Blunt. It was something Alex was sure was worth it, even at the cost of his own life. It was his duty to save lives, after all, and he was certain many lives would be better without Alan Blunt to meddle with them.

He was met with Yassen’s disbelieving eyes, but the now former assassin didn’t say a word. He merely looked warily at Alex, unsure of how to proceed, or of the state of the spy’s mind.

Apparently many seconds passed, an unnaturally long time for things to have gone smoothly. Wolf’s entry was marked by a very audible gasp. His hand was on his gun in split seconds, and almost immediately Yassen was falling backwards too. Before Alex could blink, he was staring down the barrel of a gun as well.

Wolf’s hands were shaking. His confusion was all too obvious. He didn’t know what had happened, he hadn’t been in the room. He’d shot an assassin that was on death row, yes, but an MI6 agent was a different story. Particularly when he didn’t know on which death to blame the agent’s ashen face.

Alex was sure several minutes passed like that, but later, when he thought about it, it seemed improbable that Wolf would wait that long without saying something. The young spy really hadn’t expected to walk out of the place unscathed, but no one had stopped him, not even Wolf. He simply walked back to the helicopter that had transported him and Blunt there and told the pilot there had been an accident and he needed to get back to London ASAP. The pilot drew his own conclusions from the expression on his face and obeyed his order without question.

And so Alex was walking away free. The pilot hadn’t put up much of a fight about the change in direction with a gun pressed against his scalp, and Alex knew how to disappear from then onwards.

He’d probably be hunted, but he didn’t know for how long or how hard Mrs. Jones would look for him. She’d always had a soft spot for him and had seemed slightly opposed to Blunt’s decision to make Alex execute Yassen. She’s also been looking forward to a promotion and, well, Alex had paved the way for her. But most importantly, this was a prime opportunity to do away with MI6’s dirtiest little secret quietly. Blunt’s death could be blamed on Yassen. Alex didn’t even have to be present, as Wolf could be silenced and records could be tampered with easily.

All in all, things for Alex were pretty good. He’d killed Blunt, walked away unscathed, and lost the one person who loved him in the process. But then, all turning points in Alex’s life were marked with blood, so this was no surprise.

He broke down over it one night in a stingy hotel and he’d cried himself to sleep and woke up to an empty double bed, cried more, cried until his eyes were drained, until his decisiveness was restored. He could still feel the warm touches on his skin, the soft lips on his lips; he was pretty sure he would feel it forever. But there was nothing more to be done. He had to walk away.

_To be in love_  
_And feel in love _  
_And know when love is gone_

**Author's Note:**

> So, not a happy ending per se, but at least Alex got rid of Alan Blunt in the process. Alex may have lost his first love, but through it all, he was liberated and I think there's a better life in store for him now.
> 
> What do you think? Do you feel Alex could have done something different? I'd love to hear about it.
> 
> xx  
SlytherinBunBun


End file.
